Defender: Intrepid 1 by Allen Chris

Author:Allen, Chris [Allen, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781743340950
Publisher: Macmillan Publishers Australia
Published: 2012-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 32

“They’re dead ahead,” Fredericks whispered. “You can see ’em straight through the window, there.”

Fredericks and Morgan had climbed into the vacant shell of a building that had been the local school. Cautiously they had edged around a small open courtyard, most probably used for assemblies and playtime, and past a number of small classrooms containing wooden desks and chalkboards. Inside the final room at the corner of the courtyard, they were just 20 yards southeast of the rebel machine gun position nestled deep within the empty shop across the street. It was as close as the two men could get without being seen.

“This’ll have to do us,” Fredericks said.

Morgan was relieved that the rebels hadn’t moved and, with the Chiltonford evacuation halted further down the street, the guns had fallen silent. It was obvious this team had been sent to cut off any fleeing government troops. Stumbling across a bunch of foreigners trying to get out of the place would have just been a bonus; sport, nothing more. There was no sign of any other rebel troops close by, but it was only a matter of time before their main force would finally break through the remnants of the army, and then the streets would be swarming with them. The not-too-distant noise of battle was constant.

“Right, mate. Looks like this is it then,” Morgan whispered.

“Let’s get on with it,” replied Fredericks dryly. “I want to get this thing sorted out quickly. I’m tired, my back’s aching, my knees are killing me and I need a Scotch.”

“I could do with a beer,” said Morgan. “You think the Yanks will have some onboard?”

“I reckon you’ll probably have to settle for a Budweiser.”

“As long as it’s cold.” Morgan smiled briefly and readjusted his gear. “You ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ve ever been.”

“Alpha Three, this is Alpha One. Over,” Morgan whispered into his radio.

“This is Alpha Three,” Garrett answered. With the volume control on their radios turned down, his voice was barely audible. “Go ahead. Over.”

“This is Alpha One. Commence firing. I say again, commence firing, now. Out.”

An unnerving silence fell upon the scene. Even the chaos from approaching battles seemed to fall into a chilling stillness in the distance. Morgan and Fredericks sat poised, weapons raised and level, ready to leap through the crumbling window frame, straight at the rebel machine gun position.

Then the unmistakable hollow pop of the M203 being fired broke the short-lived silence. Seconds later, there was another pop, then another, and finally a fourth high explosive round was fired. Garrett had manipulated the awkward loading system deftly, suppressing the barrel release mechanism, and reefing the hollow black plastic tube forward and back to reload and fire each round so quickly that the last one was in the air as the first was detonating.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

All were direct hits. Landing dead on target, smack-bang in the middle of the rebel machine gun team, the high explosive rounds detonated in a rapid succession of ear-piercing cracks. The rebels didn’t know what had hit them.

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